


Neighborly

by TaleWorthTelling



Category: Marvel Ultimates
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleWorthTelling/pseuds/TaleWorthTelling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Captain America wants you, you sign up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neighborly

Ever since he moved into the place next to hers, it’s always been easy between her and Cap – her and Steve, she should say – but she’s still surprised, still off-guard, when he leans into her space, curves himself over her shoulder to press her into the wall, to breathe soft, warm air into the skin of her neck. Surprised when she hears the words. At what he’s offering. It’s not as if she ever bought into the cultural fallacy that a man of his time wouldn’t know which way to point his dick or how to keep a woman coming back. She has more faith in him than that, and she’s not so arrogant as to believe that the Sixties invented sex. And a man with a life as dangerous as the one he leads, faced with grim reality and pain, can only survive on morals and propriety for so long, if he ever believed in waiting to begin with. Still, knowing a man is only a man and feeling his body over yours are different things.

She’s thought about it. She doesn’t think she knows any woman who wouldn’t turn it over in her mind a few times. He’s beautiful, strong, masculine down to a fine art. That’s not even what does it for her, though, what makes up her mind. That supple-as-silk veneer over the steel core of him that she senses, gentle but wanting, wary but needing, is too much to resist. She’s pretty sure she can take it. She wants to know.

He’s larger than life and he saves the world because he can, because he believes. If anyone deserves some time to let go, to forget, it’s him.

She plants a hand behind her to steady herself on the wall; it chafes on the exposed brick of the stairwell, where the paint is thin. It’ll chalk red in her palm. She smiles and rubs the grit between her fingertips, the sensation not erotic, but electric all the same. Knowing what they’re about to do makes her acutely aware of the feel of her surroundings. She doesn’t think it’s nerves. But, on the other hand, it’s not every day a lady gets to bring Captain America to his knees. Maybe they’ll start with that.

She pushes herself off of the wall and shocks herself with a bold grab of his hair to bring their mouths together. That’s her answer.

The self-satisfied look her gives her, replete with smugness, makes her think he already knew.

“Your place or mine?” he tries.

She gives him a look, and he has the grace to duck his head a little, but he’s still smirking, unabashed. “Well, it’s … fifteen steps to my place. Yours is only eight. Let’s do yours.”

His lips soften to a smile and he rubs a hand across the swell of her hip, down her flank, looking at her face. He kisses her again and then he turns around to open the door to the hallway and pull her through.

His door’s unlocked before she can see him pull out his keys.

She raises her eyebrows. “Nice place you’ve got here, Steve.” She’s been here before, but it’s different now.

He snorts. “You can say it. It’s still pretty bare. I’m not here enough.”

“You have things on your mind,” she says, testing the waters to snake a hand into his back pocket.

He leans into her touch. “No kidding.” To himself, he mutters, “If I never lose a boot to another tropical swamp, it’ll still be too soon.”

She doesn’t ask. There’s a line like wire between them, and she’s careful not to cross it. That’s not what this is. But that doesn’t mean they’re not friends.

“Do you want anything?” he asks. Still polite, still a gentleman, even now that she can see the heaviness in his gaze. She doesn’t know how she missed it before. There’s a purposeful intent that lingers even as he half turns to the kitchen. It feels a little girlish to admit to herself, but there’s a thrill in knowing that Captain America wants her, that he needs this, even though she’s seen Steve Rogers get the paper in the morning with rumpled hair and sweatpants; hung out over coffee and breakfast and watched him catch toast crumbs all over his shirt before he noticed. She knows he’s a person under the mask.

But when Captain America wants you, you sign up.

“You don’t have to be so polite and accommodating all the time, Steve,” she settles on. “I’m fine.”

His hands come up slowly to rub his thumbs over her cheekbones. “Okay, then.” He slides his fingers down, down, to the length of her throat, over the curve of her shoulder, back to the front to smooth circles across her clavicle. His lips trace the path of warmth his hands left, soothe the burn from his calluses to a tingle.

She brings her hand back up to his neck, leans into him; she can feel the chain of his dog-tags, so she rolls the metal beads between her fingers. The tinkling sound they make is loud in the quiet between them.

He jerks her hips against his and she startles. Then she laughs. She knows when she looks down he’ll be grinning against her skin. She can feel the hard line of him, but that doesn’t seem to be what he’s after as he maneuvers her around, pulling her forward until his solid thigh rests between her splayed legs. It’s an awkward position, but when she tests her weight against his, he can hold it. Of course he can. (She tries to keep the internal fangirling to a minimum, but, come on, this guy fights honest to God villains with these ridiculous muscles.)

He nudges her lower back, palming her ass, encouraging. She gets the idea. No need to tell her twice.

If she stopped to think about what she looks like right now, riding Cap’s leg and squeezing her thighs rhythmically together and making breathy sounds, she’d run off and hide in a closet somewhere. But she’s not thinking at all. She’s feeling him under her, letting go, hoping he’ll do the same. He’s still pretty tightly held right now, but the look he’s giving her … well, she has faith. And a pretty impressive private porn stash. She knows what she likes, and he looks like a man who enjoys giving a lady what she wants.

And she wants.

The pressure is good, but after a few minutes her jeans start to chafe. There are better reasons to be walking around sore tomorrow, so now’s as good a time as any to strip. She gives his biceps a quick squeeze before she steadies herself to lean back and undress. There’s no fevered frenzy, no sensual show, not even a quiet modesty. The moment she’s naked, she pulls at Cap’s shirt, shoves it halfway up his chest ‘til he gets it the rest of the way off, then drops right to her knees to undo and yank at his belt and pants. He seems amused, but he has the sense not to laugh, so she pets the lean jut of his hip for a second. His pants are down to his knees, his boots still in the way and preventing them from coming off, but it’s not really a problem.

She’s got an eyeful of dick now. That’s really the only way she can describe it. Looking up, and up, and up, past his firm abs and pecs, reveals that while he’s staring down, it’s not at her. He’s staring at the crumpled blue underwear she shoved down and kicked off her ankles just a minute ago.

He licks his lips. “Wet already?”

She thinks about pointing out the blood filling out his dick right at this moment – and it bobs a little in front of her as she considers this, heavy and impressive and, dare she say it, almost kind of cute – but she’s always been a woman of few words, and she thinks Cap likes this about her, the way she measures what she says, how she uses her mouth.

With no preamble, she licks him from sac to crown, hands on his legs. He shivers. When she pauses a moment he leans his elbows back into the wall, tilts his head, spreads his hands as if to say, ‘Go on, it’s your show for now’.

She slides one hand over the soft hair on his leg to rest it under his balls, gives them a light squeeze. The huff of air he lets out is all she needs.

Right down to business, she sets up a good rhythm, humming the national anthem intermittently mostly to amuse herself. She forgot that he has super impressive hearing, though, because after a few minutes he seems to notice what she’s humming. He looks caught between being appalled and laughing.

She raises her eyebrows at him, shrugs, and he settles for laughing.

It’s all going well and she’s pretty impressed with herself for what seems to be a damn fine blowjob when he tugs her hair a little and she stops. He gestures for some room. 

When she shuffles back on her knees (and he watches her tits swing freely at the motion) he shoves off his boots and the rest of his pants. He walks over to the couch, glancing back at her with a hand in her direction, beckoning almost offhandedly.

She assumes he’ll sit down, but instead he waits for her, then nudges her to sit. He kneels at her feet and unceremoniously spreads her knees with his big palms, fingers curling hotly over her skin. He tugs her forward a little so that her ass is just off the edge of the cushion (which she hopes is washable, then rolls her eyes at how ridiculous that sounds at a moment like this). He moves closer so her knees bracket his shoulders instead, which frees his hands, which is great because now they’re sliding up the insides of her thighs and coming to rest at the junction where they meet her hips. She plants her feet on the table behind him. He doesn’t mess around. First one finger, then two, rub lightly over her outer lips, then dive right in. It’d almost be a little rude, but she’s been ready for a while now and it feels just right. She sighs and slouches even further, leaning back into the cushions and tilting her pelvis into his hand. The other hand reaches up for a nipple and pinches quickly, then soothes with gentle circles. With every thrust of his fingers he grinds the heel of his hand into her. Eventually she makes a frustrated sound and reaches down to hold it in place, firm pressure right where she needs it, his fingers curling hard, relaxing, and curling again, but staying put. He grins up at her, but it looks good on him.

She’s almost there, twisting a little back and forth and taking over her own breasts to free his hand to rub himself, when he stops. Just completely stops and pulls his hand away.

The frustrated sound she makes is almost a growl, which seems to be a turn-on for him, because his eyes go lidded and even darker for a few seconds.

“Relax,” he says, grabbing his dropped pants to reach into a pocket, “I have a plan.” 

She’s pretty sure he’s joking.

The plan involves bending her over the back of the couch, which works great for a while, him palming her ass and holding her thigh while she pushes back, but eventually he seems to miss her breasts. He pulls out, turns her around, kisses her hard, fondles them, looks like he’s about to hike her legs up around his hips and dive back in midair, and she takes over from here. She nudges him down, figuring the hard floor won’t be a huge problem for him, and climbs atop his hips to finish things herself. She braces herself on his shoulders and leans down to nip at his clavicle, making shallow circles with her hips, alternating fast, then slow, then faster again just because he can sure get as good as he can give. He rests one hand on the back of her neck.

He ups the ante reaching down with his other hand to where they’re joined and rubbing her. She’s done. She bites him a little too hard by accident as she comes, but he seems to like it, because now he’s growling a little. He waits a second for her to come down, then flips her over. (And, yeah, the floor really is hard.) It doesn’t take much longer for him. 

She’s a little too relaxed to notice the time anyway.

He huffs quietly into her neck as his breathing slows, kisses her sternum. His hand trails down her body before he pulls out and takes care of the condom. She’s not moving for a while, she’s decided. The floor is hard, but she’s just about melted into it and the air is cool down here. She yanks the blanket off of the back of the couch and curls up into it, allowing herself this luxury. She’s just had sex with Captain America (and also Steve, her attractive neighbor who’s also a really good guy). She’s celebrating by staying comfortable for at least a few minutes longer. He shakes his head as he walks into the kitchen, then comes back with a glass of water for each of them.

He doesn’t seem like a cuddler, but he pulls the edge of the blanket up to make room for himself anyway and settles in against her back.

After a few minutes there’s something else against her back, too, actually. In a little while she’ll work up the energy to creatively deal with that. He seems content to wait, mouthing slowly against her shoulder. Now, how will he feel about the cock ring in her toy drawer …


End file.
